


Letters Engraved Upon Your Heart

by star-gazer (beta_omega)



Series: Witchers Don't Have Familiars [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of suspected child abuse, aiden/lambert is background, geralt/jaskier is background, mentions of animal abuse, rated for language, there's a lot of angst but I am TRYING to practice fluff writing as well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beta_omega/pseuds/star-gazer
Summary: "...I would use whatever time you have to prove to you that I choose this, I choose you, not out of duty or guilt or shame, but because I genuinely want you as you are. As long as you will have me."Eskel made a promise, and he's determined to keep it. And her.A collection of "hopefully" short ficlets detailing the days in the lives of the cat and the wolf.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchers Don't Have Familiars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105421
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	1. “Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> You do definitely need to read the main fic of this series: Witchers Don't Have Familiars, in order to understand things.

“Can we play with your cat, Mister Witcher?”

It’s not the first time he’s been stopped in the streets by the question, though it’s the first time it’s happened in a town of this size. More often the folk in the small forest villages are more welcoming of his aid, even if not necessarily of his kind, while the larger cities have proved to be far less accommodating. He’s handled being called a beast and a mutt of the worst kind for years, and in spite of Kasia’s greater age, he knows she’s dealt with such vitriol far less frequently. She’d spent centuries in a single region as a well-loved guardian. She knows so little of the hate the wider world has for the things that don’t belong.

Caught off guard, Eskel doesn’t realize how quickly they have him surrounded. The hairs on the back of his neck tingle with unease, but perhaps it’s just the fact that he’s not accustomed to having so many children around at once. That’s street urchins for you.

Kasia chirps in his ear, rubbing against his face once, before she drops to the ground and approaches the nearest child, a boy with unkempt black hair that curls around his ears.

They’ve come for an arachas contract, no more a single creature holed up in the woods that border the small town. Thankfully they aren’t the sort of beast that stands for other hunters in its territory. They’re not particularly susceptible to fire so he hadn’t planned on having Kasia tag along behind him.

“Her name’s Cricket. We have a room at the Blue Bird Inn. When you’re done playing, bring her back there. The barmaids will recognize her.” He hopes they will at least. The one with the pretty green eyes and honey-blonde hair had seemed just smitten with her when they’d first checked in about booking a room though he can’t seem to remember her name.

“Of course, mister!” The boy crows and then he scoops Kasia into his arms and the whole gang darts around the corner and disappears into the crowd.

He listens for several moments in case she needs his help, but all he can hear is the bustle of the townsfolk around them. She’s a demon cat, she can hold her own if she needs to, but at the end of the day, they’re just kids. She’ll be fine.

As expected, the fight with the arachas is over rather quickly despite the late start. By the time he comes back into town with its head secured in a pouch dangling from the back of the saddle, only a few hours remain of the afternoon, casting the pale walls of the town in shades of orange and red. The alderman shorts him a few coins, yes, but at least he gets paid. The strange feeling in the back of his mind has come back, and suddenly all urges to demand for the coin he was promised flee.

He stops at the inn first, but Imelda, Jezika,  _ Alicja _ , that’s her name, Alicja swears she hasn’t seen the cat since they left their rooms earlier that morning. Not until after he questions the baker at the far end of the marketplace are his worst fears confirmed.

Liliana, the red-cheeked woman behind the counter, flour dusting her brown locks and the deep blue of her dress despite her efforts to keep it clean beneath a white linen apron, she ushers him back out as soon as he describes the lad, the apparent ringleader, who’d grabbed Kasia, and points him to the river that runs past the town. “They like to dump them there, from the bridge over the rapids. There’s a bend a ways down where the water slows. You might find your poor beastie there, might not. You’ve been gone a long while, and there are scavengers a-plenty out by the woods.”

Scorpion flies out of the stables faster than a dog after a fox, his hooves like thunder against the packed earth. He gives the stallion his head and they bolt down the lane, their dark shapes blending into the night, the last light of day giving way to the night.

The roar of the rapids serves as his guide, and then the bubbling of the water over a shallow bed of rocks, the bend in the river that Liliana had mentioned. He slides down from Scorpion’s back and leads him to the water as far as he can before his feet start to slide out from under him, the earth saturated and loose from a recent rain. The air smells strongly of the water, the mud, the trees, like another other forest. There are the little nuances, the spike of citrus that suggests the presence of geraniums nearby, the honey-almond of phlox. He’s certain that during the day, this might indeed be a picturesque little section of riverland, but more than anything, he seeks the scent of lilacs. They would be out of place here, the plant doesn’t like to be flooded, but if he can find the scent, then he can find Kasia.

He doesn’t smell lilacs, but he does smell iron.

River water floods into his boots, and though the mud sucks at his boots, he pushes on and pushes against the rush of the water against his side as he forces his way to the opposite bank.

His hands grope in the dark, murky water. He has some night vision, but without Cat, it’s mostly useless when it comes to river environments. The long grasses and reeds that line the banks shadow the actual edge of the bank, and the reflection of the moonlight is bright atop the water. Every twist and every turn kicks up more of the soft silt underfoot. He can’t see much of anything, and it’s as though the gods are toying with him, he loses the odor.

Fuck.

Maybe he can pick up the scent again if he heads downstream.

His hand follows the line of a branch poking up from the water, and while he uses it to balance himself to crawl over the submerged trunk of the tree, he feels the coarse texture of a rope with his opposite hand. Hastily, his fingers follow it down to the waterline where he finds the harsh weave of a potato sack.

_ Fuck _ .

Without even bothering to undo the knot tying it shut at the top, he shreds through the wet cloth with his bare hands, reaching inside to find—

Nothing. He finds nothing.

Angrily, he tosses the bag into the grasses to his left, and he roars into the dark. Just as he turns away to return to Scorpion, he hears it. Little more than the whisper-soft rustle of the reeds moving against each other.

It could just be some small animal, a mouse or a mole, bolting for cover now that he’s really gone and made himself known, but there’s no rapid heartbeat to accompany little paws moving through the grass. There is, however, now that he knows where to focus his efforts, a rather weak heartbeat, slow and frail, but it’s there. In case its owner is prone to flight, he moves through the water as though he’s on the hunt, all slow and careful steps to minimize the squelch of his boots in the muck.

Still moving about as slowly as a snail, he gets his hands between the reeds and pushes them apart, keeping his ears honed on the steady beating of that little heart.

The scent of the blood returns.

As does the delicate scent of lilacs.

She doesn’t wake during the entire ride back to the inn. Scorpion, the good fellow that he is, lets himself be led away by the stableboys, and it’s just one less thing he has to worry about though he tosses a gold coin to both of the lads for a little extra incentive. He won’t have any other member of his little party mistreated, not tonight. Alicja is still at the bar when he comes in, smelling to high hell and dripping all over the floor, but the second she spies the little bundle in his arms, she ducks behind the curtain separating the front of the room from the kitchen with a quick gesture for him to stay put.

Together with the help of another of the maids, Imelda (he knew there was a reason to have that name in his head), they bring buckets of water, fresh towels, and two armfuls of firewood to his rooms. Imelda curses under her breath the whole time, and it would be refreshing perhaps to hear that it’s not directed at him for once if he were not so worried for Kasia.

Imelda storms off first, and he can hear her heavy footsteps retreating down the stairs while Alicja remains to regard him with sorrow in her jeweled eyes. “How is she?”

It takes substantial effort to unfold his arms to lay her across the towel that she spreads across the foot of the bed. She’s breathing, but it hardly sounds good.

“Have you drained the lungs?” Alicja steps in closer, but flinches when he shifts his weight. Her recovery is quick however, and the fear smell dissipates thankfully quickly. Her hands are steady as she grabs Kasia’s hind legs and holds her upside down. The towel darkens below her mouth, but fairly soon it stops and she readjusts another of the towels under Kasia’s hips to angle her head downwards. “You should get her clean and warm. I hope she pulls through. She seemed rather fond of you. I’ll be downstairs for a while yet should you require anything else.”

She’s given him a start at least, and he’s grateful for the little bit of kindness he’s found here in the wake of everything. 

He tries to ignore the feeling that he’s preparing her for a funeral as he heats the water and wipes her free of the river muck, toweling her dry once her coat has returned to the color of freshly fallen snow. With the fire going strong in the hearth, the room soon becomes warm enough that he has to discard his jacket, but he keeps the blankets and dry towels piled high around her sleeping form. Sleep is about the furthest thing from his mind, but it pulls at him nonetheless.

Sometime during the night, he must have fallen asleep because the prick of claws in his skin mercilessly wrenches him into wakefulness. Though it’s died down to embers by now, the coals provide just enough light to see by to spy the shivering form of the cat nuzzled against his chest, small arms wrapped around his neck, her head pressed against his throat. Her little breaths puff out, harsh and fast over his pulse point.

“Don’t worry, they can’t hurt you anymore,” he promises, running a hand down her back until her grip loosens and her claws retract.

Apparently, he hadn’t made it as far as shucking his boots before he fell asleep, but it’s too late for it now. It’s far from a comfortable sleep, still in his riding leathers and boots, but at least he’s not still trapped in his armor. He hates to think of the damage the spines would have done to the wood frame and the mattress. Instead, he thinks of the soft lullabies he remembers Jaskier singing back in the keep on the long, dark winter nights when they’d all gotten a little too deep in their cups and gone all maudlin. He can’t be sure they  _ were  _ lullabies and not just unreasonably sad ballads, but he remembers the tune enough to hum along to them.

And slowly, slowly, Kasia relaxes into the embrace.

Alicja isn’t downstairs when he ventures down, dressed and packed to skip town now that their business is done, but Imelda is, angrily wiping down glasses and slamming them onto the bartop with a lot more force than is really necessary. Then her eyes settle on the white cat on his shoulders and they soften. She sets aside the cup and towel and makes her approach, entirely unafraid of the Witcher. 

Arms already outstretched, she catches herself at the last moment to look him not quite in the eye but a good deal closer than most really dare, “May I?”

He nods.

She coos when Kasia begins to purr, delighted to receive gentle scratches behind her ear. “I didn’t think she would survive the night to be honest, Mister Witcher. Not many o’them do, get snatched up by them ruffians. I’ve already given them a stern talkin’ too for takin’ a Witcher’s companion and they’ll not be doin’ it again anytime soon. Put the fear of death in those lads, I did. No need to go lookin’ for ‘em yerself.”

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s genuine. The last thing he needs to circulate is the story of how he intimidated a bunch of children, even if they’d deserved it. And Kasia, from the way he can feel her trembling even through the leather at his shoulders, is in no rush to see them again either.

Not until they make camp the next day in a small clearing in the woods does Kasia return to her human form, soundlessly taking up the task of arranging stones in a circle for a fire pit, gathering the wood, and setting them ablaze. It’s nothing out of the usual except that that’s where she stops, simply pulling her knees to her chest and staring into the flames.

He doesn’t like this quiet version of her. It’s not that she’s loud, not in the way that Jaskier is. She’s not even half as animated as he is, but he’s used to her following him like a shadow, only there’s always been a sort of lightness to her. Now the air around them feels heavy almost.

“I should find us something to eat,” he suggests once Scorpion has a bag of feed at his feet and his halter lashed to a tree.

Her dress muffles her voice, but he still catches the words, “Don’t leave me.”

Fuck. In an instant, he kneels before her and he promises, “I won’t, I won’t. I’ll see what we have from our trail rations, alright? I’ll be right here, okay?”

It speaks to how shaken she is that she actually remains in human form through the night rather than shifting back into a cat to better fit into Eskel’s bedroll. They haven’t talked about getting a second one yet, but perhaps he’ll bring it up when the mood isn’t quite so dark. She’s small enough though that she only needs to shift onto her side to keep covered by the blanket, but she goes a step further and throws an arm over his chest, pulling at him until he curls around her in turn. Like this, he can feel the bright line of heat she provides against his front, but more than that, he can feel her shaking, the dampness of her tears as they soak the fabric of his shirt over his heart.

He wants to ask why she didn’t just transform, protect herself, but he has the feeling he already knows the answer. Jaskier once called them the worst sort of self-sacrificing idiots, and clearly, he wasn’t far off the mark at all.

The comforting scent of lilacs swirls around him, and he takes a deep breath to steady himself before he speaks again, “The next time you’re in a situation like that, if you have any reason to fear for your life, you protect yourself first, promise me, Kasia.”

Her arm tightens around his waist, but he can feel her nodding.

Just as he feels himself falling asleep, her quiet question immediately has his attention. “Why did that do that to me?”

“I don’t know.” And he doesn’t, not really. “Sometimes it’s because they’re hurting, and they’re alone, and they feel powerless. It becomes an easy solution then to hurt something else, something smaller than them, to feel that they have power over something.”

“But why, Eskel, why do they hurt? They’re children. The little ones where I lived, they were always so full of life, they never hurt animals and they certainly never hurt me.”

He sucks in a breath and rolls onto his back, but Kasia doesn’t let up, she rolls onto her stomach and props up her chin on one arm to maintain eye contact. It’s a little unnerving to be honest, but she doesn’t let him look away.

“It’s hard to say, but most of the time, most of the time they’re hurt by the ones they’re meant to trust. Family, city officials, the people who run the orphanages if they’re quote-unquote lucky enough to find themselves in one.”

“They’re  _ children _ , they should be happy and carefree and cared for.”

“I know, Kasia, believe me, I do, but it’s not a Witchers place to meddle in human affairs. No one will listen.”

“Then I will make them listen, but I won’t let that boy harm another innocent creature.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Find where they live, find who  _ cares _ for them, and give them the talking to that they deserve,” she hisses and rolls to face away from him. The fire burns hotter, the flames surging upwards towards the sky, and then they die back down again. “I won’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t leave without trying.”

The stableboys stumble over each other and themselves in the rush to lead Scorpion into the stables, eager for another chance to earn extra coin, and similarly, once inside, Alicja and Imelda are both more than happy to badger the innkeep, Imelda’s uncle he learns as they talk, into giving him a better than expected rate for a room. They aren’t successful in their attempt to wheedle a free bath out of him, but Imelda’s wink suggests that he’ll be getting one brought up anyway. He certainly isn’t complaining at the extra hospitality, even if it’s only because they’ve fallen in love with his feline companion.

Over an ale, he gets the name of the home and directions to where the boys report to every night. It’s a home for boys, which in Eskel’s experience rarely means anything good, but Kasia’s blue eyes burn bright with determination. She won’t be swayed in her conviction to speak up for the children.

He doesn’t expect her to disappear from his side in the dead of night, his own cloak wrapped around her, hood pulled over her head far enough that the shadows hide her face, but he also knows that as soon as they step out of the inn and onto the quiet streets of the town, she’s aware she’s being followed. Her back straightens and her feet speed up, and he keeps pace at a safe distance. Silent backup.

The disrepair of the home is obvious as soon as they reach the gates to the estate, most of the wood rotting and falling out of the posts, the iron fencing at the front are all bust rusted straight through. A stiff breeze could knock them straight out from where they’re bolted into the stone columns at either side. With no effort at all, she makes it to the front door, and not even the fact that it’s locked gives her pause. Given the state of the rest of the house, it doesn’t take much to turn the doorknob with enough force to snap through the bolt of the lock and make her way inside.

It’s definitely a home for boys though. The sisters at the temples always kept the halls immaculate, but this is no temple. It’s hardly even a home. Dirty shoe prints and footprints alike mar the floors, handprints decorate the walls nearly as much as cracks do, and cobwebs stretch across every corner of the building.

There’s only one room that has a different scent to it, the heady perfume of a man who’s definitely grown fat and comfortable in his position whilst his charges waste away.

Eskel hangs back when Kasia meets his gaze. For a moment, her green eye flashes through the guise of her human form, slitted and haunting. She pulls the same trick of snapping through the lock before shutting herself inside with the master of the house.

A lot of things happen at once. Most of it he can smell, fear, anger, more fear, piss, and burning flesh. It’s brief, the pop and the sizzle, but the sound is unmistakable. The man is still whimpering when she steps back out of the room. She doesn’t bother to shut the door behind her.

“He won’t hurt another boy ever again,” she hisses, and just before they turn back onto the main street, she transforms back into a cat and climbs up onto his shoulders, leaving him to bend down to lift the discarded cloak and place it over his arm.

They don’t see the little face of a child peering at them from one of the windows as they walk away.

When winter nips at their heels some years later and the Path leads them back through the town, Eskel is reluctant to say they’ve enacted any sort of meaningful change based on the outward appearance of the boy’s home because it still looks like one bad rain from falling apart. Yet upon setting themselves up in a room at the Blue Bird Inn, it becomes apparent that they have.

The same boy who’d once beaten and sought to drown Kasia is now the one delivering fresh bread from the bakery down the street to the inn, taller now, the childish fat gone from his cheeks, but his hair is the same frizzy mop atop his head. His eyes widen at the sight of the Witcher as soon as he steps inside, but he swallows hard and he does his job, passing the bread basket to Imelda. Then, he approaches the Witcher’s corner table, and Kasia crouches down to make herself smaller in the shadow of Eskel’s neck. The boy doesn’t stop until he’s stood directly in front of their table. A spot of flour has been smudged across one cheek, and more of the white powder dusts his hair, but he’s wearing shoes without holes and he seems freshly bathed aside from the flour rather than smelling as though he’s just come out of a pig sty.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, and then he’s off, winding his way back through the tables and disappearing out the door.

Not long after he goes, Imelda comes by to serve more ale and a supper on the house to explain how there’s a new master of the boys’ home. She moves a little more slowly now, a bad ankle from the way she leans to one side as she serves drinks on her way over, an old injury. Apparently the old master had up and left town screaming about a witch having come to curse him for his “good deeds.” In his absence, the widows of the poor souls who’d been lost to the arachas all those months ago had apparently come together to support the boys, bringing meals and clothes as they could, and in turn the boys had returned the favor, running errands not just for the widows but also the elderly. It was a miraculous change of heart, though no one could vouch for the old master’s sanity. Nor did they care to.

As it turns out, the little brats are much kinder without the old master’s influence and the townsfolk are much more amenable to donating what they can to support the poor orphaned bastards. It’s been a long two years since they last came through this way, but it’s good, this change that they’ve made for the folk who call this place home.

“I don’ like to say that things happen for a reason because a great many things happen that are truly, truly horrible, but it is a good thing that you came by, else I don’t like to think how long that bastard would have gone on hurtin’ those boys,” Imelda spits, and Alicja rubs her arms comfortingly. Both women have risen earlier than they normally might, buoyed by the promise of getting to say goodbye to their favorite little cat.

“I thought cats were afraid of Witchers, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her gone more than a foot from your side,” Alicja hums, grinning when Kasia slides off his shoulders and onto the counter between them. All three of them have hot ciders in front of them to ward off the biting cold of autumn. “It’s almost like you’re more  _ witch _ , than Witcher, carrying on as you are with a familiar.”

“She’s not a Familiar,” he chuckles behind the rim of his mug. He holds out a hand, and Kasia obligingly presses her forehead against his palm. “But she is a very good friend.”


	2. "Mmm, you're warm"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff prompt: "Mmm, you're warm"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: gratuitous abuse of catnip effects

They should talk about it really.

Honestly, they should.

The kiss they shared in the keep.

And other things, but mostly that. Especially that.

It’s not something either of them make a move to repeat, no matter how they might desire it. As Jaskier might say, they’re both too deep into the idea of being a self-sacrificing idiot to see the truth for what it is, but he can’t truly understand the quandary of choice, not as it applies to them. He knows a little, yes, but it’s not as though he really truly knows what it’s like to be bound by magic. 

He’s not bound by anything, not in the way Kasia was once bound to Eskel. Not in the way she would like to be bound again.

Her whole life spent waiting for a Witcher to bind herself to and now that she finally has one in front of her, she hesitates to take the leap a second time. She doesn’t want to infringe on his choice again. No, she’ll let him come to her. Like he said. He can prove it to her that he’s making the choice himself.

Nevermind that if he doesn’t, she’ll lose everything that makes her what she is.

She still thinks she shouldn’t have told him.

But when they ride together and he turns in the saddle just so to watch her stalk through the grasses that line the path, the sunlight catches his hair just right, filtering through the dark strands and creating a sort of halo round his head, and she doesn’t stand a chance against the rapid beating of her heart.

She wants more, but that is something she cannot, will not take from him.

No, she’ll go at whatever pace he sets, and she’ll be fine with it. They both have forever anyway. Well, maybe not forever for her, but here’s to hoping for the best.

There are of course the moments that have her feeling like she _will_ have forever. They’re mostly small things, everyday things, more than grand gestures, and it’s fine. Except for the fact that she’s faced with them every day. The brush of his fingers over hers when he passes her a cup of tea over breakfast, the way he sifts through sachets of tea in the markets they pass when before her, before that fateful winter, he rarely stopped at these sorts of stalls, always more of an ale man himself.

He thinks she doesn’t see it, how he steers them over to a jewelry stand before he makes his exit. The thing about being a Witcher is that one has a very keen sense of smell. In almost no time at all, he’s found and paid for her favorite blend; chamomile, rose hips, lavender, and spearmint at the forefront, but this blend has a little something extra that she can’t quite place as he tucks it into the pouch at his side. She simply hops up onto his shoulders much to the joy of the little children who spy the movement.

From there, they spend a few minutes performing little tricks. It’s just another of the little things that do in these quiet towns that welcome them both with, if not open arms, at least open minds. Kasia’s whole life has been given to keeping people safe and making them happy. Without a bond in place to draw from, she strives to create happiness wherever she can, and children, oh, children are so genuine in their happiness, they hold nothing back.

And if jumping and twisting in the air, leaping through his arms, and walking on her front paws also happens to make Eskel laugh too, then it’s all worth it. The coins the townsfolk toss at their feet are a pleasant bonus.

And later when they turn in for the night, a room with one bed (it’s never been an issue before, and Kasia won’t make an issue of it now), Eskel beats her to getting the fire going, chuckling when she kicks his ankle in retaliation before she sets herself the tasks of going through his collection of clothes and mending what needs mending. It’s been a while since they were last able to get a decent rest in an inn without the threat of a fight the next morning. There’s no work in this village so they’ll have to move on then, but for now, they can relax.

It all feels rather domestic when he holds out a cup of tea for her.

Unfortunately, she lasts about two seconds before she’s shoving it back at him so fast it spills over the sides.

“Eskel, that’s not, oh, gods.”

“What, what’s wrong?” He sets the cup onto the mantlepiece as quickly as he can without dropping it onto the floor and grabs Kasia’s hands to steady them.

He looks so concerned, it’s not fair how it makes her heart flutter. She mumbles, “You’re so nice to me,” and slumps forward against his chest. Only his bulk and strength keeps her mostly upright until he lowers them both to the ground, where she practically puddles against him. She twists so she can look up into his eyes, tracing a hand over the scarred side of his face, but her arm is so floppy she can’t be sure if she’s not just smacking him instead. To his credit, he just pulls her hand away and holds it in his. And he’s so, gods, he’s just _so_ warm, it’s so nice. She likes it a lot, being this close.

“Eskel,” and is that really what she sounds like, breathy and whiny and entirely unlike herself. She tries to bring a hand to her face before she realizes it’s the hand her Witcher is still holding. He’s got so many scars, it’s unfair that even his hands have suffered the same fate. She runs her fingers over the thin lines that criss cross over the back of his hand, over his knuckles, turning his hand over to caress the callouses he’s accumulated over years of his profession. Did he fight off some monster with his fist? Silver for monsters, steel for men, and fists for what? There are quite a lot of people she would pay good money to see punched in the face. She twists her own hand at the phantom flash of pain from hitting Vesemir that one time. It’s not something she really wants to repeat, but it had felt good at the time. Well deserved.

“Are you alright, Kasia?” Eskel asks, and, gods, his hands, they’re so big, he can hold both of hers in just one of his. That’s hardly fair.

She groans and, tugging her hands out of his grasp, she rolls on his lap and presses her face against his stomach. “ _Eskel_ ,” she drags out though her voice is muffled by the thick leather of his armor. “Eskel, I don’t think that was the usual blend.”

“Fuck.” He scents the air again, and she’s right because of course she is. As gently as possible with her clinging on like a very sleepy but determined leech, he eases himself out of her grasp and leans her against the foot of the bed. “Just stay there for a second so I can check something.”

He sniffs at the tea still steaming on the mantle and then bends over to grab his pack off the floor to fish out the jar of preserved herbs when he feels something soft hitting his ass. _Fuck._ A glance downwards finds a discarded, balled up sock. He releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

“Have I tol’ you how ham- how handy- how _handsomes_ I think you are,” she slurs, squinting up at him from where she’s slumped over. She makes a gesture with her hands that makes his ears burn from embarrassment, only he’s not quite sure he’s embarrassed for himself or for her. “Gods, you’re just _ugh_.”

But she’s right. The rest of the jar’s contents have one more ingredient than what he normally procures for her.

Catnip.

He should’ve checked more thoroughly, but it’s hard in such a busy market to pick out whether the scent belongs to the blend in question or to the blend next to it. And now he’s gotten his friend high off her ass and ogling his.

“Come on, up you get, you’re going to sleep this off,” he says and holds out his hands for her to take.

Naturally, she has zero regard for her strength when she’s this badly out of her own mind.

Eskel doesn’t even stand a chance before he’s yanked off his feet. Only years of training save him from crashing down on top of her, just barely managing to catch himself on one hand and roll so he’s sprawled over her legs.

“Or we could stay down here. I don’t terribly feel like moving,” she hums, patting his cheek carefully before tapping the tip of his nose. She looks so soft and relaxed, blue eyes blown out to nearly full circle of black, only a thin line of cerulean at the edges, and it’s definitely the catnip doing the job. She rubs her cheek against his chest and a hand trails over his stomach to the top of his pants. “Mmm, you’re warm.”

Nope. Nope. “No, come on, up,” he repeats, pushing himself up and dragging her up with him, and immediately she goes boneless in his arms, giggling the whole time. And he doesn’t quite understand the magic of what she is, but she is _dense_ . Shockingly, given how small she is compared to him. It requires far more effort to hoist her around and into the bed properly. And the whole time he tries to pull back the covers with one hand so he can keep her upright next to him, she has one arm curled around his back while the other explores _him_. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

He tries not to pay attention to the things she whispers against the armor, but unfortunately for them both, he is still a Witcher.

“Not that Feliks wasn’t a looker, but, gods, I thank the day he told me to wait because it meant I get to have this.” He doesn’t want to put a name to the noise he makes when she emphasizes her words with a pulse of warmth that goes very decidedly south _._ And that’s certainly a skill she’s not capitalized on before _. Thank the gods._ He doesn’t ever want a repeat of that.

She sighs and, sliding her hand past the front of his jacket, tugs at the laces to his shirt until they come loose.

“Oh, no, no, you are going to bed.” He gulps, wrenching her hand out of his shirt, and he tries his hardest to ignore the disappointed huff it pulls from her. Instead, he gently guides her into a seated position on the bed before pressing her shoulders down.

Just before he can pull away however, to discard his outer layers, she catches him with a startlingly firm grip around his wrist. Her eyes are still wide and blown out black. “Lie with me.”

“No.”

Her grip tightens and she reels him in so quickly he falls off balance to his knees beside the bed, his free hand coming to rest on top of the mattress cover by her hip. Her tongue darts out to run across her lower lip, and he absolutely does not follow the movement. His skin burns hot between her hands as she shifts into a seated position. She rubs her thumbs over his cheekbones and leans in close to press their foreheads together, snaking one hand to the back of his head, carding through his hair with a tantalizing amount of pressure. He doesn’t hear the shift of fabric over the furious beating of his heart while she settles her legs on either side of his shoulders. His throat goes dry when she _pulls._

He feels more than hears her chuckle at his reaction. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He wants it. 

But he can’t.

Not like this.

“We aren’t doing this, not right now.” And it burns to have to speak the words and push himself away. He feels eerily cold as he draws away from her, his hands balled into fists at his side. He’s sure he shakes from both the effort not to sink back into temptation and the sudden cold. It would be so easy to take what she offers. She’s more than willing.

But she’s also out of her damn mind.

She pouts and he wants to kiss it away. 

“We aren’t doing this,” he repeats, more firmly than before.

He doesn’t try to force her back to bed this time, just resolutely strips out of his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair, and shakes out his bedroll between the bed and the doorway. It’s not as though she needs the additional protection of a Witcher on a regular day, but seeing as he’s accidentally drugged her, he would also prefer to literally be in her way from doing something stupid like leaving the room in her current condition.

“But I’m cold.” She drops herself dramatically back against the mattress. “And lonely.”

He doesn’t comment. Let her think he’s fallen asleep and go to sleep herself. Then, come morning, if luck is with him, she won’t remember a thing.

Thankfully, there’s enough luck left in the world that she doesn’t speak again. There’s a rustle of fabric, and shortly after that her breathing evens out and she’s out like a light.

A minute or two later, Eskel follows suit.

  
  


Eskel doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find when he wakes up, but suffice it to say, it’s not a mattress under him with the covers of the blanket pulled up under his chin and Kasia conspicuously absent. He pushes himself up, is shockingly and thankfully still dressed in the same underclothes from the night before, and turns to find Kasia curled up in the singular seat at the desk in the corner, eyes wide, but this time with nerves, if not quite fear, while she bites at the skin around her fingernails. She pulls one hand away from her mouth to gesture towards the foot of the bed, and there are his clothes, laid out for the day. He dresses without comment, and once he’s got his boots laced, he pauses with his elbow still resting on his thighs.

They’re going to have to talk about it.

He looks up, and her bright blue eyes are still wide and wild. The faint metallic scent of blood hangs in the air, and he knows she’s been awake for far too long.

“Kasia-”

“Eskel, I’m sorry,” she blurts, immediately clapping both hands over her mouth as soon as the words escape.

His brows furrow. “What for? It was my mistake, I should be the one apologizing, fuck, I _am_ apologizing. I should have been more thorough.”

“Eskel, you’d tell me if I did anything embarrassing, wouldn’t you?”

_She doesn’t remember_.

It’s a gift from the gods, it is.

Or it could be.

“You got handsy with me.”

But it feels wrong to lie about it.

She doesn’t quite scream. But she does stride over with decidedly purposeful steps and he’s really not quite sure what thoughts are running through her mind at that moment, but he is woefully and entirely unprepared for her to drop face first into the covers to muffle the noise that she makes into the fabric, fisting the material so hard her knuckles turn white. Her face is still flushed by the time she rolls over onto her back, but she hides that too with one of the rather thin pillows.

He raises an eyebrow at her though she can’t see it.

“You can just leave me here. I’ll find a nice child to attach myself to, and we never have to see each other again.”

He takes one corner of the pillow and tugs at it until she grudgingly lowers it enough that he can look her in the eyes when he admits, “It wasn’t, well, it wouldn’t have been...unwelcome if you were not out of your mind.”

“I swear to every god that’s out there, I am not normally quite so bad with catnip, but, oh my stars,” she sits up, still mostly blushing behind the cover of the pillow, and squeaks, “my _fucking stars_ , you’re just, you’re _you_ , and that stuff just drives me straight over the metaphorical cliff that is sound judgment.”

“Kasia, breathe,” he urges, but she still smells like anxiety. Cautiously, he reaches out to cup her cheek, smiling when she leans into the contact. “It’s fine, we’re fine. And if … you wanted to try that without the catnip, I would be … amenable.”

Her hand releases its white-knuckled grasp of the pillow to tug at the front of his shirt until he’s leaning over her. She smells of cinnamon and bright citrus when she presses her lips against his for the first time since they’ve left the keep. And it’s just as magical as before. A soft touch, she gives more than she takes. A pleasant haze of warmth envelops them both, and they lie there until they have to part for breath, staring into the other’s eyes.

“I like you, Eskel, I don’t want to ruin what we have,” she whispers against his chest when she rolls onto her side. 

“You won’t,” he whispers back. He gives her shoulders a squeeze before getting to his feet. There are still contracts that need to be filled, monsters vanquished, but as long as they’re together, he has no doubt that they’ll be just fine. And if there are a few more kisses shared than before, then that’s all for the better. “We’ll take things slowly. We have time.”

And they do. Even if he doesn’t fully understand what it means for Kasia to lose her sentience, he’ll simply have to follow her lead and hope that he never has to see her decline. He doesn’t plan on making her wait that long. He knows how he feels and he knows what he wants, it’s just a matter of proving it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no post. More quarantine has really fried my brain but I'm free now and back to in person work. Fingers crossed I can get vaccinated soon so no more quarantine in the future. 🤞

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please consider dropping a kudos or a comment down below!
> 
> I am working off of two prompt lists (one fluff and one hurt/comfort), but am happy to take ideas and suggestions.


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